Intermission
by Eponine Faye
Summary: Sequel to Visitor. A couple years have passed and life is life - you live and you lose, and you gain little bits of experience along the way. Horrible, aching misery dulls to complacent sadness, and the lies we chose to live become a little easier to cope with. Some change is gradual, but some change is sudden. Reviews make me smile. You are loved. (Chenzel)
1. Chapter 1

**AN:: Updates will be every other Sunday night following this one. If I'm a bit late, I apologize in advance and I'm sure I'll apologize if/when it happens. Thank you for reading - I appreciate you. (Trigger Warning: implied eating disorders, blatant spousal abuse and substance abuse throughout). **

* * *

She has this way of looking at you - just looking, nothing else - and making you feel guilty about your whole life. She can just cast her gaze and boom. Done. You feel like everything and anything is your fault.

I love her, but I've never known how to get past that look.

She just feels everything so deeply. I don't know how to do that. For some reason or another I'm just detached from so much. I feel for these characters I'm given, but that's about it. I feel like they're people, but they're people without a voice. They have so much to say and so much to give but they don't have anything unless I offer them a way to say what needs to be said.

They're so much stronger than I am in every way, it's ridiculous. I find them so fascinating, I have to put my best effort into them. Maybe it's just because I find them so much more interesting than myself - or maybe because I can focus on them instead of the shit inside my head. It's all worthless anyway. I just feel like I'm never enough for myself, and if I am then I'm not for anyone else. I'm one of those early 2000's music videos where it's all dark and misunderstood, and there's a little girl crying for something or someone to save her. Only I'm happy with the dark and misunderstood - I don't want to be saved from my own head.

I'm comfortable with the dull insanity I've created.

And that's sad.

I realize it's sad but I'm not up for changing it.

Believe me, I run around my twisted mind whenever life quiets down, whether it's for a random moment or the hour after my son's asleep or in the car or anywhere I'm not directly interacting with anyone. Sometimes even when I'm having a conversation, and all the while I just feel like screaming at myself how awful it is that I'm comfortable living in this vast static - never changing, never being open to change, never wanting for anything more than what I feel stifles me every day.

I'm aware I should be seeking some kind of help, but I don't want to, and I don't think it would do any good. I know where I should be, and that's where I am. The problem is, that's not where I _want_ to be.

I start to smile, my stupid word choices making me think back on things that have come out of my mouth on stage. Little images flash through my mind when a string of words comes into my brain.

Yet of all the strings of words there are, I never thought I'd be the one called and hearing, "She's sick."

Sick.

I hate that word. I don't think it makes a lot of sense – why can't they just tell me the truth and say, "It looks like she hasn't eaten in about a year, and she isn't letting us call her parents, so she gave us your number."

I'm glad they called me, but I'm horrified they called me. There shouldn't be a reason for a call because this shouldn't happen. I'm scared and angry and incredibly afraid that I'm the reason for it. My head keeps spinning around the fact that I've probably done more irreparable damage to her than any other one thing in her life. I'm at fault for a lot more than I'd like to let myself be aware of.

But there's no time to hate myself.

I pull in to the hospital parking lot, and I don't exactly know if I lock the car or not, but there isn't anything important in there – we have more car seats, and I can't see anyone actually stealing that.

There are a few women behind a desk when I walk into urgent care. I explain quickly that I don't know this hospital and I'd need someone to show me where Kristin is They talk quickly amongst themselves before the heavier of the three dials the phone and smiles at me without much sincerity.

She says "Chenoweth," into the phone, followed by a "Thanks."

I have to remind myself to breathe when she waves me forward to follow her. We go through doorway after doorway, then in an elevator. She checks her phone as I adjust the sunglasses that I'm under the delusion hide who I am from any random fan who thinks it would be a good idea to come up to me in a hospital. Hopefully whatever or whoever they'd be here for would be more important than seeing _me_ in person. Obviously there are more important things for everyone in play than to ask if I could sign something or ooze over whatever it is they think I'm wonderful for. I'm just-

I'm going on tangents so I don't have to think about what I'll be dealing with in a matter of seconds. Or minutes – whatever.

The little ding sounds and the door opens. The nurse lets me out first, only leaning half way out of the elevator. She points to the end of the hallway. "She'll be in eleven – oh – one."

"Thank you." I nod before making my legs move correctly.

What if she's like struggling for breath and half-awake and all groggy from pain meds like the chick from the Bette Midler movie? I don't know how to deal with this. I didn't have my own baby in a fucking hospital because these places are just scary. I don't like them.

There blinds are closed and there's a thing over the window on the door.

They put those there even for minor celebrities like us, but that scares me too. My hand stays on the handle for a little longer than I'd like, but I need to prepare myself. I haven't seen her in a little over a month. I've been in New York and she's been here – how was I supposed to know?

And there's no way she could be _that_ thin after just a month, right?

_God damn it, just open the door._

As soon as I enter, her head just turns just slightly to look at me. Then there's that smile – the one that knows how to win me over and make me feel like I've done nothing but wrong in my life. It doesn't quite reach her eyes, but nothing does anymore.

"Hi."

* * *

She stands there like she's surprised.

I keep my half smile there because what other expression do I have? I could give her something completely fake, or the blank stare that occupies my expression most of the time. I am happy to see her. Maybe these aren't the best of circumstances, but it might be more than a month until I was able to see her again, so at least she's here. At least she still cares in some small way.

"Hi, there."

After taking a deep breath she sets her purse down in the chair next to me and sits herself on the edge of the bed – if you can call it a bed. Hospital beds are just cyborg cots. Beds are comfortable. This is definitely not comfortable.

Her hand drapes over mine. "How are you feeling?"

"Fine," I shrug a little, squeezing her hand before looking out the window again. "Better than this morning."

"That's good."

I just nod. There's a Kia in the parking lot with a window, or lack thereof, that looks to be sealed with duct tape and plastic bags that keeps flapping with the breeze. I keep trying to imagine what it would sound like. Then I imagine who it belongs to… why they're here and how long they've been here for. If it's a child or a parent they're visiting, or if they had to drive themselves here because they chopped off a tip of their finger because they don't know how to correctly dice onions.

"Kris."

"Hmm?" I look back to her, wishing I wasn't so groggy. Maybe I could have a bit of an attention span if these drugs weren't so strong. Why wouldn't they give me a smaller dosage? Can't they see how tiny I am?

She shifts beside me and crosses her arms. "What happened?" Her voice lets me know she's already asked me.

"I'm not sure. One second I was standing just out of the shot, ready to say my line and walk on, then a second and a half later Julie's standing over me with her phone in one hand and yelling at someone to get me water…" I stretch a little before lifting my shoulders. "Apparently I have a concussion." A little laugh bubbles out as I lay my head back again. "And we're selling some stupid story… I think we're saying a light fell on me or something."

She nods, looking away from me. She can't even crack a smile?

I take a deep breath and look out the window again, willing the knot in my throat not to get any bigger. "How's little man?"

"He's good." I hear her sigh like she's avoiding everything. "We're looking for daycare or pre-kindergarten options… because he's getting older and he should be around kids his age and blah blah blah."

"That's crazy." I shake my head. "Two weeks ago he could barely point at something."

"I know – time goes fast."

I look down at my fingernails. "I miss him.."

Out of the corner of my eye she's nodding.

One too many seconds float in between us without words. There are no more comfortable silences anymore because when there is silence, there's thinking. And when there's thinking, it means there's thinking of what I've given up to stay or how guilty she is for letting me.

"How's your mom doing?" Her smile isn't even a smile – when I look up at her there's just a straight line on her face.

"Better." I yawn and let my head fall back on the pillow. "Finally got over that cold, and Daddy keeps telling me how beautiful it is down there, that I should come and visit."

"You're not?"

I laugh, but not the kind when you think something's funny. "Idina, what do you think?"

She looks me up and down. "Because of this?"

"No." I itch my thigh – the same damn spot that's been itching me for the past hour. "Because whenever I go down there we talk about the same thing, and I don't want to do that anymore."

"What?"

"Talk about you." I shake my head. "Mamma doesn't like you very much. Then at the same time she's worried for you."

"She has no reason-"

I cut her off by reaching forward and pulling the zipper on her hoody down a little. And sure enough there's another bruise. The same kind that makes my stomach turn, but I've realized it's her choice. She wants to stay there and let herself be thrown in the garbage so her baby can look up to a man that, let's be honest – if he has to do that to show his brute strength and dominance, isn't much of a man.

"If you're going to lie, maybe wear something I can't see the yellowing from the neck line."

As soon as I sit back she zips up the sweater and looks away.

"She asks me how you are then says I should stop talking to you… Almost in the same breath." I don't know why a little smile appears on my face. Maybe it's just thinking about my mother.

"It's not even that bad…"

"Idina, it's old." I look at her dead in the eye. "Don't feed me bullshit – avoid the topic all you like but don't try and pretend like I'm stupid and I'd believe that garbage."

"I'm fine!"

"Right. You keep telling yourself that."

"What about you?" Now she's yelling at me. She's off the bed and pacing with her arms crossed, glaring at me.

For some reason my reaction is to laugh. "What about me?"

"Why are you stick thin and passing out? Let's look at your wonderful choices while we're at it!"

"Go for it." I nod, still with the empty grin.

She paces toward the bed and leans in like she's intimidating anyone. "You're not healthy – I know you notice, so why are you letting it get this bad?"

"What makes you think you deserve the answer to that?"

"You had the fucking hospital call me! If I don't deserve answers out of everyone, Kristin, why am I here?" Her head shakes from side to side as she turns around again, letting her arms raise at the elbow like she's shaking something invisible before they fall again and slap her thighs. "Our relationship should have at least _some_ honesty, don't you think?"

"Relationship?" Little bits of tears pop up in my vision, though I'm still laughing. I wipe away at my eyes before they have a chance to fall all the way. "God, this isn't a relationship."

She just looks at me like she's offended.

"Not anymore." I shake my head as the smile fades. "Whatever relationship we had is so twisted and warped – that's dead, Idina. We're just people. People tied together because there's still some remnant of something that brings us back or makes us feel younger. We're just reminding ourselves that there was something good once and for some sick reason, neither one of us is smart enough to let go."

"You want to let go?"

"Don't you?"

Her eyes move to her feet as she bites her lips and shakes her head like she can't believe what I'm saying.

I look back out the window. The big red van next to the Kia is pulling out slowly – backing out just a tiny bit and stopping a few times before they're out of the spot and driving away.

My voice is quieter, mostly because I feel drained and not entirely from the medicine. "Sometimes I wonder if I'd feel better about myself if you left… or if your life would be easier if you didn't have to make time to sneak away with me for a night every few months."

There's that silence again – but this time it's her wheels that are turning. When her feet move her back to the side of the bed I can't help but look at her, not accusing her of anything with my stare, but helplessly wanting to know what she could say to turn any of this around. Somehow she always does.

She stares at the IV in my hand. "_Would_ you be happier?"

My hand reaches out and takes one of hers, and her arms unfold to let me have it. I answer by shaking my head and lacing our fingers together.

She sits back on the bed and leans in taking a kiss that she knows is always waiting for her. And even through the miles of shit that's piled between us, my eyes flutter closed on their own. In the quiet seconds that pass, I feel just a little better and a little worse at the same time, because what is love without confusion?

She pulls back, only to dot my lips with another, then my cheek before scooting closer and pulling me into her arms. Part of me wishes I didn't want to cuddle into her chest so badly, but I do. I wish I didn't want to feel her next to me, and I wish she didn't have every power over me that can make me hate her and fall in love with her so many times over. I don't think I could change it – at the same time I don't think I'd want to if given the chance. With all the pain and numbness, in the very least it hasn't been boring.

"You need to eat."

"You need to stop letting this happen." I gently run my fingers over where her bruise is under her hoodie.

She pulls back and looks at me. "I'm not the one in the hospital."

"Not yet."

Her eyes almost do a lazy roll that tells me I'm overreacting, but this has been for years. Not consistently, but it's happened every now and again. I never hear the story, if there is one or if he just gets angry and takes it out on her I'll never know, but it happens. I see the aftermath when the lights are dim and she thinks I can't see them and it makes me want to vomit. And if I had anything in my stomach at the moment I'm sure I'd be tempted to wrench it up to stop the horror bubbling there.

"I'm serious."

"So am I." Her hand sits on the side of my face while her eyes are tracing different features. "You're _too_ thin. I hate it. It scares me."

"_This_ is what scares you?"

That small huff of a laugh falls out of my mouth again as I push her away.

She nods. "Obviously."

I shake my head, not knowing what else to do.

"What?"

"I don't know. I have no idea."

"Tell me."

My shoulders raise and fall unceremoniously. "This of all things… not.. not everything?"

"What do you mean?"

"The fact I'm a shell. Or I'm alone all the time. You're not worried about how _I_ am… just how I look to the rest of the world. If I look unhealthy people might put the pieces together? Is that it?"

"That's bullshit."

"Is it? If I was in the psych ward instead of the ICU would you be here right now?"

"Of course I would." Her voice has an unusual bass to it, like she means what she's saying. It's hard to believe it anyway. With everything that's happened between us, I don't know how to believe much of anything that comes out of her mouth.

I nod as my eyes go out the window again.

"Let's not do this." She sounds a bit defeated.

"Do what?"

Her hand is on mine but I don't look back. "I don't want to be like this. I want to make you feel better, if I can – make you happy."

"You did."

"You're phrasing everything like I need to ask questions to dig deeper – so you can tell me all the complexities of how awful I make you feel withou-"

"No." I cut her off, pulling my hand away. "You don't need to ask anything. You already know."

I hear her sigh before I feel her move closer. "I love you."

"Love you too."

I don't even look back at her. I don't know what to feel. I don't know if I could feel whatever emotion it is that would be appropriate here. Even her telling me again I don't feel anything other than that ever present ache she put there that I nurse every day.

The door opens and I look away from the window, intending to watch what happens when there's another person in the room – how her body language would change. Instead a small smile warps my face.

"Hey, Denny." I sigh, opening my arms for him.

He glances at Idina with an expression I can only describe as somewhere between contempt and irritation. He tries to hide it, but he's not as good an actor as he thinks he is. I can see his jaw stiffen before he walks into my arms, leaning in the direction opposite her and holding the flowers in his hand out so they aren't crushed.

We kiss each other on the cheek simultaneously. All the years we've been friends and all that we've shared we've become in sync on a few things. I love him like my brother – maybe a little more than my brother now because he didn't hate me when I told him about the married woman I'd been sleeping with for a decade. Not that my brother hated me when he found out. He just got quiet and said he didn't want the girls to know. He didn't know they found out before he did. We were all planning on keeping everything under wraps before Idina got her divorce. Walker even got used to my parents when she left again, and everything fell apart.

Now my whole family hates her. Including Denny. I don't blame them. Sometimes I hate her too, until I remember how much I love her and couldn't ever cut her off like I wish I could. With all she hurts me I still think it would hurt more without her.

"How are ya, doll?" His voice is always so calm and caring, even when he's irritated.

I smile as best I can and rub his arm. "I'm fine. Tired, but I'm not in any crisis."

His smile fades into something of a hard line like he doesn't agree with me before he glances toward Idina. "And how are you?" That one was a little more cold.

She nods, just barely making eye contact. "I'm well. How about yourself?"

His body tilts from side to side. "Worried about his one."

I know the look in his eye – like he wants to bitch slap her with his words. I wish he would. I wish someone would that would make her feel so bad that she actually divorces that idiot and would come back to me. And at the same time I don't want to. I want her to make the decision on her own.

She feels uncomfortable. She's squirming with him looking down at her because she knows how everyone who knew about us feels about her. She's going to bolt, and leave me again, but I'm not actually dying for her to stay now that Denny's here to talk me through my insanity – he hasn't done anything to hurt me, so I don't have quips for his points.

"I should go.." Her eyes find mine and she smiles a small apologetic smile.

I can only nod in return while my face keeps the same empty stare that occupies my expression so often.

She leans in and kisses my cheek and I let her – I lean into it. I wish she'd do it more often when it was just her and I.

"Text me?"

I squeeze her shoulder and nod again. "I will. Drive safe."

And with a rather uncomfortable half-smile toward Denny she's out the door. I called it.

"Whore." He puts the flowers down.

"Denny, don't…" I shake my head, playing with a thread on the itchy hospital blanket.

He sits where she was just a few moments ago and takes my hand in both of his. "I won't curb my opinion on her because you're in love with her. And you can't let her treat you like this."

"Like what? Like I've always let her treat me?" The smile on my face originates from somewhere – not entirely sure where. "Oh… why would I change something that's worked _so well_?"

"You're her doormat."

"So?"

"So that's not right."

"How's Mr. Boyfriend?" I turn back to him with a smile.

He's not amused. "He's fine. But you're not."

"Yes I am."

"No you're not. If you were fine you wouldn't be here right now. We both know that, so do not try to tell me anything different, because it will make me angry."

I frown at him.

"What's going on."

"Nothing."

"Christi, really." His sigh is heavy. "I can't watch you destroy yourself. I'll call your mamma and she'll come up down here and kick your ass back into gear if I can't."

"Don't you dare."

"I will." He nods, looking me in the eye. "If you don't put on weight within the next few weeks I'm calling her and telling her everything."

My heart drops at that. "Denny… it would crush her."

"But she'd make it stop. At least for a while. I don't want to put that stress on her, but if it makes you better then I need to."

My eyes go back out to the window again. I don't know why I keep looking out there. Maybe I want to see something happy, or not see whatever's going on in here… If the psychology of it makes any sense I'd love to hear it if only to understand whatever's in my head a little bit.

"You deserve better than her."

"I'm not sure if I do."

"What are you talking about darlin'? You're-"

I level my stare and blink a few times. "I slept with her – _I_ was the one intruding on _their_ marriage. I think this is exactly what I deserve."

All he can do is shake his head before changing the subject so I don't have to again.


	2. Chapter 2

**AN:: This chapter may contain hints of questionable content. Nothing terribly graphic, but it may upset some readers. You are warned. You are also loved. If you or anyone else is in trouble in any way there are resources for you. Please Google any free numbers online, and there are people to help you. You do not need to, and you should not stay in a situation that is harmful to you, and if you know of anyone who is in a destructive environment, help them get out.**

**You are loved.**

* * *

The next day they tell me I can go home. And although I don't have a home here, I don't argue with them. I just pick up my phone and text Idina.

_They're letting me go in an hour and a half. Can you come get me?_

And of course she gets back to me within the minute.

_Yes. Be there by noon_

It's almost a whole hour earlier than I need her to be here, but it's nice to have her helping me with my crap and laughing with her at the stupid questions they ask on the release papers. It's at times like those that I let my mind imagine things for a little while. Like we still live together, or that Walker is with Taye while she gets me out of here. And maybe I'd be in here for something stupid, like the knife slipping when I'm making dinner and I needed a few stitches on my hand.

But they wouldn't keep me in here overnight for something as silly as that, and she doesn't live with me. Walker probably is with Taye, but that's because that's his father, and they live in the same house.

No matter the case, I'm happy she's here in a way. I'm still glad I get to see her and I'm glad she cares about me enough to put her life on hold at times to come and spend time on me. I'm definitely not in the agony I was before, weather that's due to numbness or a higher tolerance, or being thankful for what I have I'm not sure, but I can say that I am without much of a doubt. I suppose I've simply accepted the fact that I was never meant to have the life I'd dreamed of. Maybe the fact I've found that crazy kind of love means you can only have so much happiness with them before your world gets crushed.

That sounds more dramatic than I meant it. Saying things like that makes me sound ridiculous, I'm sure.

By the time all my things are packed up – all brought by my assistant who is wonderful, but doesn't understand I don't need much of anything in the hospital other than my phone and my wallet for ID and insurance purposes. She's such a sweet girl – wonderful at her job but she likes to do everything above and beyond. I appreciate her, and she's become a lovely friend, but she's a little too much like how I used to be and it's scary looking at her sometimes.

And I was saying something… when we were done packing my things.

Damn tangents.

With my bag packed and all the papers filled out, the nurses coming to smile a goodbye, Idina put those absurd sunglasses back on and walked a little slower so she was in time with me. The car was out in front, and she threw my bags in the back before she opened the door for me to climb in the front.

She stops for coffee without having to ask me if I want any – of course I want some. And she remembers my order, and tries to tip the people before we pull away. I always have to remind her Starbucks doesn't take tips unless it's in the jar up front for everyone and not just the individual workers.

It's almost like we're married… we act like it when we're together most of the time. Other than when I feel the need to tell her that she's married to someone else like she doesn't know. Sometimes she just needs to be reminded. Just to remind her how much I hate it.

I don't know. I've given up logic years ago. It's gone now and I don't care to have it back. It would probably do more harm than good at this point.

I don't know where she's taking me. Not to her house, and I don't have an apartment here anymore, so probably a hotel. I don't know if she paid for it or if I did, since she has all of my information and she could easily have put it on my bill. I smile a little at the country station that's playing low in the car. She doesn't listen to it, so it's just for me. The thought comes into my mind that she may listens to it when I'm not around just to think about me. But she hums along to songs she knows, which she's not doing now, so maybe not.

I look out the window the whole way, letting her hand rest on my thigh. My hand falls over it and grips her fingers lightly.

Little moments. The perfection of these things that don't seem like a whole lot that always mean the world to me.

"Baby.."

My head swivels to look at her, a tiny grin making its way to my mouth – I love the way she says that. "Hmm?"

"We're here. Do you want me to check in and bring your stuff up or do you want to come in with me?"

And it fades again. I pat her hand. "No, you should check in alone. Just text me what floor we're on and I'll come up in a minute."

"Kris…" Her hand flips over and she laces her fingers in with mine. "You can come in with me, if you want to – it's okay."

"Everyone has cameras now a-days." I place a kiss on her cheek before getting out my phone and getting into my email. "Go ahead. I'll be up after you text me."

Out of my peripheral I see her open her mouth again, but she stays quiet and turns to go without another word.

Taye must already know where she is, or she wouldn't have offered. It's hard for me to admit it to myself, but I know it's true – that so much of us revolves around him. I would rather her be cautious and not hide things from him just in case, but it still hurts.

She must have made the reservation yesterday because it isn't even five minutes before I get her text saying we're on the fourth floor and that she'd wait for me by the elevator. I get out and lock the car before I head in and b-line for the elevator with my phone out, pretending to type something. It's amazing how well that technique works when you don't want people talking to you.

And there she is with my bag and the card for the room. I put a finger through her belt loop as we walk silently down the hall, still happily scrolling through emails I don't intend on reading any time soon.

As soon as we get inside she takes her hair down and the sunglasses off. Like it's her disguise or something.

I sit down on the bed and stretch out my neck, moving my shoulders back so they can crack.

"I hate when you do that." She gets behind me on the bed and starts to massage out the knots.

My smile comes delicately. "I know." Immediately I start cracking my knuckles and slip my shoes off so she can hear the popping in my toes.

"Ew."

"Should I stand up and do my hips?"

"Please don't." She just laughs. Her thumbs worked their way down either side of my spine and I feel myself beginning to smile.

"Fine."

Her palms start at my lower back and wiggle up slowly until her fingers are in my hair. My eyes close and she sweeps my hair to the side so she can get to my neck easier. Then her lips are there. First there are just little pecks, but she doesn't waste much time in finding little places to hold her lips for long moments.

It's not until she places one just below my ear that I pull away.

She looks at me for a second, her slight pout in place and I'm not sure if she knows she's wearing or not. "What's wrong?"

"I don't want to. Not right now…" I shake my head lightly, not speaking above a whisper.

And her face tells me she doesn't understand.

I get turn toward her and place my hand on her knee. "We always…" Before I can rant about how all we do is have sex, I'm able to stop myself. "Just lay with me?"

Her face is still has that confused tinge to it, but she nods and scoots herself up the bed and I follow. She puts her arm out for me and I let my head rest right by her collar bone. Pretty soon her fingers are sliding through my hair and I remember back when this was a common occurrence – when we'd put Walker to bed but it was too early to fall asleep ourselves and we'd watch whatever was on tv. Sometimes we'd end up falling asleep on the couch, waking up to the gurgles coming from down the hall.

"I miss you." She whispers into my hair line. Her lips stay there, just resting. She drags her finger tips down my back and below my shirt, but she doesn't do it expecting anything. They stay there and make tiny lines over and over. I guess she remembers I like that.

I almost feel like crying, but I won't. I don't think anything good could come out of that. I don't know what to say back either. I miss her, but I've told her that a million times. I could say that I miss me too, but lord knows that wouldn't end well. So I simply stay silent and breathe in how she smells. It's different. Like she's using different shampoo or something. I can't place it.

"Are you comfortable?"

I nod. "Are you?"

"Yeah, I'm fine."

I tilt my head up and she looks back down at me.

There are long beats of silence I just search for what to say, if there's anything to say at all. Maybe silence is best, but that doesn't stop the innate suspicion that's pulling me to the right words.

She doesn't look like she expects anything from me. She's just keeps her nails in motion, drawing tiny things on my skin while her eyes look like they are eliminating features to stare at one at a time.

Finally it comes to me.

"You mean the world to me."

The smile that she gives me reaches all the way up to her eyes, and it stays there even after only the ends of her mouth remain tipped up. Her hand leaves my back to trace over one of my eyebrows, then my bottom lip with her thumb. And the smile slips away. "Am I horrible?"

I shake my head. "You're human."

"Yeah, but I think I'm on the less than great spectrum of mankind."

"You could be better… but so could I."

She takes a huge breath, before biting her lips for a minute. "I could be better to you."

I lean in, kissing her softly – how I wish she would kiss me instead of the heated, rough way she likes to. It's like she thinks she can burn away all of the horrible memories if she gives me enough of them, but it only stings. I offer her the softest and sweetest one I can find, if not for her then for myself. That and to make her stop talking. I don't want to talk anymore. Our words just make us feel like all of the things that are wrong between us are worse. Not that they're good in any way, but they only get bigger when they're talked about.

I don't think we'd do any good in trying to fix things now. I have her in little sprints and she has her family and her bruises that she feels secure in, I suppose. There's nothing I can do aside from accepting the love that's available for me.

And with that thought, I decide to give her what she wants – my body moves over hers, each of my knees digging into the mattress alongside her hips. I only break our kiss to take my shirt off and then our lips are together again. Her hands are on me, and we know the drill from here – different and the same every time. There's not much effort anymore because we know each other too well by now.

We'll exchange little words and noises of validation, showing instead of telling and wasting hours in the only way we know how to without fighting or crying or both.

Then we'll go and pretend it never happened to anyone that's not us. Sometimes even to ourselves. If we're in the same city we'll see if we have time, but if one or both of us are busy no extra effort will be taken to see the other.

But I have her now. She has me and that's all we see in these moments.

At least it's all I see. I can't speak for her – I'm not sure why I ever try to.

I didn't know what time is was when I opened my eyes. There was just a whole lot of light and a strange absence of little blonde next to me.

I had to do a lot of groggy blinking before I tried to pick my head up, then in scanning the room my confusion only grew, helping the ever reliable knot in my stomach to rear it's ugly head and remind me how terrible a person I am. But I saw my clothes lying at the end of the bed, folded immaculately with my purse right next to it.

"Kris?" was shouted a couple times, but there wasn't an answer.

I peeked in the bathroom but again - no one. All of her things were gone. There wasn't a damn thing. No note, or message for me when I checked out. It was like she wasn't even there to begin with.

It wasn't until I was in the car on the way home I wondered if that was how she felt - if she woke up all of those mornings wondering if I was still there, wanting to say goodbye before I left, hoping to close her eyes and feel my skin next to hers, because that's all I wanted to do. I wanted to wake up with her and understand that love that I miss so much and that I've abused.

When I left all those times, it was to avoid that look in her eye when I said I had to go. I hadn't seen that change - the moment I let her know I'm leaving her again, in such a long time, yet it's like it's there all the time. That's the look that makes me want to jump off a bridge and kiss her face until she smiles like an idiot. I miss that smile. I want it back.

Now all I can think about is that smile. I feel like it's somewhere in the car with me as I stare off into space, working up the resolve to walk into my home.

Sometimes I feel like I'm not living my life. I don't feel things the way I should. Things just happen around me and I'm sort of present for it.

I pull the keys out of the ignition, holding my breath until I'm out of the car and have my purse resting safely on my shoulder. And even then I don't know if I want to let it out. My steps across the lawn and to the door ease it out of my lungs, but the heaviness still sits on my chest.

_Open the door. _

I have to prompt myself. No one has any place to judge me – my son and his perception of the world is more important than superficial things I'll get over.

_He won't even notice you._

And there's no one there.

I put my purse down on the entry table, shoes off, phone in hand, then peek in the kitchen.

"Hi."

He doesn't even look up from the paper and his coffee.

I try and give a little smile back. "Hey."

Maybe if I go and get a cup of coffee he'll just sit there. Maybe we can read the paper together.

Except I don't read the paper. Not really. I look at it – I just like to look at the different shapes they make with the words – sort of like rectangles all over, but they're not. Because they're made of words.

I have a cup and I'm going over to the machine and he gets up.

I stop. I don't know what to do. My face doesn't do anything, not that I can feel it, but I look right at him. I don't feel afraid. I don't think I've been afraid after the first time, and now I just expect something any time we're alone. It's just nerves and a little bit of hoping he's in a good mood.

He might not even do anything. I mean, I've been gone before and it's been fine.

Then his lips are there.

I feel myself sigh into the contact out of relief. It doesn't last very long, but it's better than what I thought might happen.

He pulls back and rests his forehead against mine. "You didn't come home last night."

"I know…" I nod. "I had to go to the hospital." Not a lie. Not really.

"Walker missed you."

Guilt.

"I missed him. Where is he?"

"Napping." One of his hands stays on my waist as he takes a small step back. His other hand comes up slowly and sweeps some hair back from my shoulder. I'm sure it would seem sweet if I didn't see his expression – if I didn't know that expression by now. He's angry, but he wants to draw it out. He wants me to apologize first, or openly admit I feel bad or something. I never know exactly what it is, but I know I'm not showing him what he wants to see just yet.

"He asked where you were, and I had to lie to him."

"What did you say?"

"That you had to work."

I nodded. Probably something he would have accepted. He likes Taye putting him to bed better than me anyway. I don't know. I'm probably just telling myself that.

"Were you with her?"

His voice is still low, like he expects some right answer that I can't give him.

All I can do is look down and nod a little.

But his hand is already across my face and I feel the sting next to my mouth before I can say yes or try to reach for an excuse.

I don't have a reaction anymore. My body brought the empty coffee cup up to my chest, both of my hands are pressing it there. That and my eyes just stay closed. My head followed his hand and it stays turned away from him.

And I don't know why I don't try to move – he's close but he's not holding me anymore. I could go run to Walker's room and crawl into bed with him because he would never do anything when Walker even had the chance to see. He's protected in both of our minds which I'm thankful for. Even that little thought makes me feel like I'm lucky. Which is strange at a time like this, I suppose.

"I thought we were done with that."

"Done with what?"

"Her. We agreed that she's not good for our marriage, right? We've discussed-"

"You discussed, I'm sure."

I can't help but jump as his hand makes contact with the cabinet by my head, but that's it. I let my eyes stay glued to whatever I'm staring at in the pantry – it's cereal or something. Something in a box.

"You said you two were over – we have a family."

"Yeah. We do. You have your harem of sluts, though – so let's call it even, yeah?"

I try to move around him, but he moves in front of me.

"How long has he been asleep."

"We need to talk."

"We shouldn't let him nap for more than two hours, now – he won't sleep toni-"

He leans in so I have to step back and puts his palms on the counter toward either side of me, staring at my face. I can feel his stupid breath on my chest, nostrils flared.

"Are we going to do this?"

I keep looking anywhere but him. I don't even feel like crying anymore.

"Idina."

"No." I didn't think that would come out like a whisper.

"Good. Can we sit down?"

I don't have time to nod before he's pulling out a chair for me. And I take it – why wouldn't I?

He takes his place again and sips the coffee. My cup is still empty and pressed to my chest. If I look at it objectively, I know how dumb it is. But nothing is nonobjective. Everything has bias strung along to it, and my life is no different.

He just keeps staring at me.

I guess I'm supposed to go first.

"I'm don't want to stop seeing her."

His jaw pulses. Maybe I do this on purpose? I could have told him what he wanted to hear, or just not said anything at all – but I made the choice to do the stupid thing.

"Hi, mommy."

I think I love that voice more than anything in the world – small but still a little gruff and gravely, half from sleepiness and half from being my son. And it's still sweet because he's small. I smile immediately in seeing him. He scratches his little afro and rubs his eyes.

I stand up without hesitation and go over to scoop him into my arms. "Hey, kiddo – were you good for daddy?"

He laughs and twists his fingers up in my hair. "Yup." He grins, sleep still drifting slowly away from him. His head falls to my chest. "Was you working?"

"Yeah, mommy had to do some stuff. I'm sorry I wasn't here to tell you ni-night. But I'll be here tonight."

"Okay."

He's content.

He's perfect, and that's what I endure for. He has the both of us and I wouldn't trade that for the world.

"Let's go put real clothes on, yeah?"

"Okay."

He wriggles out of my arms so he can walk, then takes my hand and leads me back to his room.

I don't look back. I don't want to. It's not important.


	3. Chapter 3

**AN:: I'm so sorry about the late upload - yesterday was crazy for me, but crazy in a good way! I'm becoming a real adult! (After years of legally being one). So thank you for waiting - we're no where near the end. TRIGGER WARNING! And be prepared for tears, because I cried, so I feel I need to warn you.**

* * *

I have mixed feelings about plane rides.

Maybe it should be relaxing or something, but all I do on plane rides is think – and Lord knows I don't need to think any more than I do. I don't want any alone time with my thoughts. Why else would I keep myself so busy? Yes, I love working but I have every moment filled, or as many as I possibly can. That's not just about loving work, that's throwing yourself into something to keep yourself occupied so you don't have to acknowledge the rest of your life.

So New York today and tomorrow, and maybe the next day, but I have to be back in LA by the weekend for another party.

Another mindless social event I can show my face and make verbal agreements I may or may not have time for, but I'll find the energy somewhere – most likely in the space I should use to sleep or 'recharge.'

I can't say that I like the parties. They're not awful. There's always alcohol and plenty of smiling faces that are always less than genuine, but they're smiles all the same. At least I'll have Denny for this next one – he always puts funny little comments in my ear and takes me home early before I can get myself into any trouble.

Maybe trouble isn't the best word for it. Mischief? Questionable circumstances? I don't know… every once and a while I'll end up taking someone home with me, or stealing a bottle of booze they're not paying attention to. Denny manages to rein me in and remind me I'm still me. He's one of the few people who can bring me back to reality, even if it's just threatening to call my parents on me, which still frightens me to death. The last thing I'd want to do is disappoint them. I still don't know if I did with Idina. I think she disappointed them, which somehow reflected on me and my judgment – especially because I haven't stopped seeing her, even though she's left me more times than I want to count.

And then I think about that baby.

I may miss him more than her sometimes. Not all the time. It's her arms I imagine around me and envisioning making breakfast for her. He pops into mind afterward when I want to strap him into the high chair and let him demolish scrambled eggs with his little fingers, or when I imagine him crying in the middle of the night and Idina bringing him in to sleep with us.

Suddenly, like every time, I realize Walker's talking and running around being a three-year old. In less than a year he'll be four and he'll have a wonderful birthday party with his parents there and all of his family, and I won't be mentioned. I won't get a phone call and I'll more than likely be either sitting by myself watching reruns or working on something I don't particularly care about.

And there it is – the lovely flight attendant with my pillow and ear plugs.

Now instead of doing circles in my head and feeling sorry for myself, hopefully I can fall into a dreamless sleep and wake up ready to distract myself further.

* * *

I don't know why I picked up the phone.

Numbers I don't know are usually off limits and immediately I ignore them. I don't know how many times we've had to change our numbers.

Maybe my mind was wandering and I just picked it up. And Denny being on the other end was probably a bigger shock than Kristin being in the hospital, which is a horrible reality I only now realize. I was confused to say the least, but I kept trying to sound as normal as possible, but honestly – it was the best friend of the woman who I've continuously let down over the past decade. He has every reason to harass me, but instead he invited me out to lunch.

And again, I don't know what came over me in agreeing to it.

I could tell myself that I just wanted a reason to get out of the house, but I could find anything to do. I didn't have to go to lunch with a man who probably hates me. So I guess it was for Kristin in some roundabout way?

As soon as we sit down he pretends to look through the menu – scanning over everything and flipping the panels far too fast to actually look at anything, then spouts out bullshit small talk. Which wouldn't be as bad, but we stood together, waiting for the table not two minutes ago tossing customary niceties back and forth.

"How are you?"

I shrug, glancing down to the front panel over and over again. "I'm fine." The picture of the large, colorful alcoholic beverage catches my eye more than once. "How are you?"

"I'm doing well." He smiles in that awkward forced sort of way and folds his hands in his lap, trying to look at me, but I can tell he'd really like to glare across the table and call me a piece of shit in all of the ways he can think of. And it's merited.

"How is the-uhm…" he gestures with his hand like he's measuring something small. "The little boy?"

Grasping at straws. He knows Walker's name.

Between my nerves running as high as they are and this guy beating around several bushes my patience runs out.

"Did you ask me here to make small talk?"

And his face falls. He shakes his head and smooths an eyebrow down. "No, I didn't."

"Great. So we should talk about whatever you're planning to talk about and make this just a little less awkward."

He nods.

I wait, but he just keeps sitting there like he doesn't know where to start.

"It's about Kristin."

He nods again.

"And… what?"

Finally there's some confidence and he sits up straight in his chair. "I think you should stop seeing her."

It's not in the tone I'm expecting – not like he wants to shove the words down my throat, but in real concern. Not that I agree. I'm offended. He's not in the relationship, he doesn't get to throw his opinion at me and expect me to just take it and roll with it.

But he keeps going despite the look of 'what the fuck' on my face. "For a little while at least."

I just shake my head and blankly look at the menu. "With all due respect, that's not your decision or your business."

"It's not. But it's what I think is best for my friend." He leans forward. "She's really miserable, and she thinks she deserves how you treat her – that's not right. She's such a wonderful person-"

"I know that." I don't know what else to do but pull my hair down and put it back up again. "Life is complicated, and I don't know what she's told you, but I'm sure there are things you don't know so you don't need to tell me like I don't know who she is."

"You don't know as much as you think you do."

"Oh, really." Between the nerves and not knowing how to get out of this conversation, everything on the outside manifests as anger. I drop the menu a little further away from me and cross my arms. "What is it that I don't know? That I'm a horrible person – I'm completely aware."

"It's not-"

"That I treat her like shit and she doesn't deserve it? I tear myself apart for that every day, and I don't need a helping hand."

"Idina, she-"

"I know she's wonderful. What do you think made me fall for her in the first place?"

"Fall for her?" His eyebrows go up and his head moves to the side just a little.

I'm sure if I were watching this from some outside perspective I would laugh at how blatantly gay he is, but I'm on the other end of the attitude. It's just fueling the irritation and self-loathing bubbling in me all the time.

He points at me like he's accusing me of murder. "If you'd fallen for her, maybe you would have shown it – you just stick around for some sick satisfaction. So you can keep her around to make you feel good, and still have a happy little family to personify this vision of perfection that seems so important to you."

"You don't know anything."

"No, you don't know anything. She tried to commit suicide last year – you didn't even notice and I'm not sure you would have cared because you left her and you keep leaving her and she's drowning."

And just like that the world is on its head.

"What?"

He looks down at his hands like he's said too much, but I'm sure it was on purpose to make me feel even worse. How could it not be?

My hand is over my mouth almost as fast as the tears rush to my eyes. I can't feel myself breathe – I don't know if I can breathe or if I should. I don't deserve air anymore. She tried to kill herself because of me. I didn't notice. I had no idea. She was going through something horrible and I wasn't there for her.

So much for feeling detached from things – I'm here and this feels like it's gouging at my insides with dull kitchen knives over and over again.

As soon as I realize his features changing I get my sunglasses and put them on. By the time my elbows are back on the table the waiter is at our side and Denny keeps his composure enough to ask for coffees. I grab my scarf while they exchanged words and hid behind it, not knowing how to keep my lip from shaking and I'm sure I can't keep wiping all of the tears away without calling attention to myself. Not that talking at each other as aggressively as we had been didn't do that for us, or having half my face inside a scarf indoors.

God, she tried to kill herself. She didn't want to live anymore and it was because of me. And her not eating…

"Hey… are you alright?" He asks with his voice in a strangely calm tone.

I just shake my head. Of course I'm not alright.

I feel like everything in my body is trying to eat itself or set itself on fire to punish me. I have to hold back the sobs and keep my breathing under control. Just in case I keep my voice low. "I don't think I've ever hated myself so much in my life." My words are just as strangled and gurgled from behind tears as I expected them to be. But the way it only makes this horrible feeling worsen I did not anticipate.

I'm fucking lucky we're in the corner, but still – we're in a restaurant. People could easily see me bawling over here.

He puts his hand on my arm but I pull it away and shake my head, trying to muffle the noises wrenching themselves from my body and lean toward the wall. I can't control it. There are some cries that don't give you a choice in how they're carried out. This is one of them, demanding it shake my whole body and make me feel like I'm going to puke. I'm sure my scarf is going to be disgusting after this.

I don't know how long I sit like that, but I'm able to catch my breath before it turns into an ordeal.

The waiter sets our coffee down but glances at me with a sympathetic look and scurries off.

And the look on Denny's face is still like he made a mistake, but he's sticking by it. Guilty but sturdy in his decision.

I wipe my face one more time before taking deep breaths and willing myself to hold the rest of the hysterics in until I'm safely in my car. "What happened."

His voice is still in that tentative concern it was before. "She overdosed." He's staring into his coffee cup, not moving to drink from it at all. "But her body rejected it and she just kept throwing up. She called me a few hours later and I took her to the hospital under the guise of her neck.. stuff – you know."

I nod, but I have to keep my eyes closed. I don't know why I asked. It doesn't matter the details, it just matters she wanted to, and enough to try and go through with it. I hate myself and the world I live in and all of my stupidity.

"The doctor was good; ran his tests and kept her overnight on fluids and whatnot and she was fine, but we didn't tell him it was intentional."

"She just accidentally takes way too many pills? 'Oops – I thought they were… fucking tic tacks?'" I laugh before sniffling and wanting to jump out the window.

He shook his head. "She fed him some crap about being on her ambien and not remembering taking the pills until she came to a little more and found the bottles open after she threw up."

"And he believed it?"

He just shrugs and shakes his head like he's disappointed with my joking. But that's how I do the horror of sadness – I joke. That's what Kristin does too, as far as I've seen. He shouldn't be surprised or offended in any way by how I'm acting.

And thinking about what she would do… God, I hate crying. I hate myself. I made all of this dumb shit happen. I don't know how to make the tears stop. All I can do is hold my breath and squeeze them back. I dip my head down to hide my mouth under my hand again.

His hand is on my elbow again.

I look back up and wait for whatever he has to say, more than likely knowing what it'll be.

"I think you should just let her be for a while. Let her find herself again. If you and your husband get a divorce, or split up for good.. or whatever – sure, start seeing her again, but not right now. I really think she needs to breathe and not constantly think about you and if you'll call or not. And… do you know.. what I'm talking about?"

I just nod. Maybe he's right.

Obviously I've led her this far and she's only been dumped into one heartbreak after another. I can understand how her losing this weight and the whole fainting thing would be the last straw.

"Are you doing okay?"

All I can offer is a shrug, but trying to smile, even in jest just makes my chest hurt more. I take a large drink of coffee, almost wanting to spit it back in the cup when I realize I didn't put any sugar or anything in it. But I don't – I just take it. Lord knows I should punish myself in any measure available, even as small as the bite in coffee I don't want.

"It's not my business, and I don't want to push my nose where it doesn't belong, but I'm worried for you too."

I shake my head. "Don't be."

He squeezes my arm a little and scoots forward in his chair. "Kristi's confided in me about your… situation. You can get out without causing a media storm around it, Idina. We have really good lawyer friends"

"I'm not ready yet – thank you, though."

He nods and pulls his hand away.

And suddenly I'm not crying anymore. The focus is on me and I can go back to being numb for a little while.

But I look back and he's still looking at me. Probably pitying me.

I take a final shaky breath and lean my elbows on the table. "If I back off, you have to tell me how she is. Please." There are the tears again. Just waiting for me to let them take over again. I try to blink them away and finish a damn thought. "Obviously I'm shit at being there for her so you have to keep an eye on her an-and make sure that doesn't ha-happen again. And that she's eating.." I start crying again. Half because I'm not the one there for her, and that I'm agreeing to letting her go for an extended period of time.

He just nods and looks at me – like he can't believe it.

"God, I hate myself. I'm the reason. It's my fault she… I can't even fucking say it."

There's a sympathetic smile for me on his face as he shakes his head. "You among other things. She's been working so much and I don't think she understands who she is without whatever it is that's between you. It's been so long since she's been by herself."

"I love her, though." I nod, having to wipe my face again. I'm sure it'll be raw beyond the help of lotion by the time we leave. "I really do. I've never lied about that."

Another smile – this time a warmer one, but it burns. "She loves you, too. But she loves you more than she cares about herself and that's not healthy."

I nod and add sweetener and a couple shitty creamer packs to my coffee. "I know." I take a big drink, hoping to have my body focus on something other than making more tears. "I'll end it. For now. Until I find an out.."

"Will you let me know… now that we have each other's number. Just so I can check on her."

"Yeah, I can do that." I take a breath and will myself not to cry. "You have to make sure she doesn't try it again – when I tell her."

He shakes his head. "I told her I would call her mother if anything happened again. She's terrified of hurting her parents, so I'm almost positive she won't."

"I can't do almost."

"I'll check on her."

There's a silence that passes over us. We're conspiring. Planning the life of a person who's not either one of us and I don't know how to feel. I don't know what's going through his head, and I haven't known him long enough to guess. If it were Kristin, she'd be wandering her mind and not caring if I had the next thing to say or if we sat in silence for hours. God, I'm missing her already.

"I apologize for the other day… at the hospital."

"Don't." I stop him, shaking my head. "I get it."

"I just want what's best for her."

Fucking tears.

"Good." I turn my eyes up and try to minimize the water. "I'm glad she has someone like you around. Lord knows I'm no good at being there for her."

He leans over and covers my hand. This dude and touching… I don't fucking know but it makes me want to cry more. "If you need to.. talk to someone, really – it won't bother me a bit-"

A tightness eats away at my chest and I pull away, gathering my crap and shaking my head. "No, just watch out for Kris. Thank you for.." I shrug, feeling frantic all of the sudden. I throw a few bills on the table and get my sweater. "I'm sorry – I've got to go, but I'll… ya know." I take another drink and give an awkward wave as I feel another round of tears. "See ya."

And I bolt.

I speed walk to that door as fast as I can and get into my car and I pour all of it out. All of the hate and self loathing, and the pitying myself for not getting to see her, depriving myself of the small happiness I get at seeing her face and remembering what it felt like when it was just her and I and nothing that felt like it would crush us and the world at the same time. Or thinking of her holding my son, or painting our bathroom blue even though she hated it. I end up crying harder than I thought I would and I have to open up the door and let my breakfast land on the pavement.

I hate this world and all of my decisions in it.

Fuck.


	4. Chapter 4

**AN: I apologize for the lateness again. I'm dumb. I told you guys this would happen! But Here is the next chapter :) Thank you all for the wonderful feedback. **  
**You are loved.**

* * *

Thank you, Denny.

Of course you have to wait until I'm in the car on the way to your place to call and say you aren't feeling well.

I would have accepted a text, so long as it was at least an hour earlier, but now I have to tell the driver to turn and go the opposite direction, and go to the party. I want you to know that in this moment I hate you, and I don't want to see you for a week or two because I will be a royal bitch. You would have made tonight so much less boring and now you've gone and fed me to the wolves.

The driver's irritated but I don't know if I care. I can't feel sorry for him over feeling sorry for myself that I have to go to one of these dull Hollywood get-togethers unaccompanied. It would be a different story if I were performing, but no – just some people getting together and gnawing on each other's ears over who's doing what, why there's a reboot of something, what Meryl's working on next and who's on board with her.

Very few people will make the venture to talk to me. And on the occasion they do, it'll be someone younger gushing over Wicked or Glee, because obviously I've done nothing else of worth in my career worth talking about.

But I'll smile and sip on one too many drinks and wait for things to die down before going home and passing out on the couch, probably in full makeup and in the borrowed outfit. I might have to pay for it later, but I'm fine with that – more wardrobe pieces. Clothing is fun.

And of course, as soon as I walk in, there's chatter everywhere covering a layer of music with a little base in it. There are girls closer to the DJ dancing.

One almost looks like Idina. Like back in the day when we first met – I get a clear shot of her legs which look just as toned, and her hair is the same length… maybe a little darker or it could just be the lighting. But on second thought, she has much more rhythm than Idina's ever had. I mean, she can clap to a beat for the most part, but she's the most adorable sort of clumsy and I love it.

The woman makes eye contact so I pretend to look at her outfit. All I get back is a dirty look and a hair toss.

And look – an open bar!

The only acceptable kind if you ask me. And before I know it I've drank through three glasses of whatever tasted good, deemed by a very cute bartender, who couldn't have been more than twenty five and looked like he was still working his way through college. So far there've been a little gay boy and two of his friends who noticed me and came up and decided to tell me how much they loved me on glee.

I don't know who lets these kids in here. Who's idea was it to invite younger actors to industry parties? They're going to audition for everything anyway, it's not like you can't wait until they actually get some work and _then_ come and bother the seasoned people.

Some producers I've worked with have come and said hello, asked how I was and whatnot, but they were short exchanges at best.

It's times like these that I wish I had the excuse of someone to go home to. And the horrible part is it's not always Idina I imagine – it's anyone. Someone who'll smile and wait for me to get into my night clothes before snuggling me and falling asleep, not wanting to talk so we could instead over breakfast the next morning.

Of course, most of the time it's Idina. I think about what it would be like if I had to sneak into the house and close the door really quietly so I wouldn't wake up Walker. And for some reason I've been working in a pregnancy into the whole thing. Like Idina would be expecting our first and I'd bring her in some water or tea or something when I came home, or that we'd adopt a baby. I just want a baby. I want to be a mommy and I've wanted it with her for so long…

But the knot in my stomach grows. I'm getting to old for it. I keep telling myself if I don't work up the courage by 50, I'll give up wanting one, because it'll be way too much for me by then.

"Hi."

I look to my left and a scruffy looking man in a suit is smiling at me, interrupting drink number four.

I just smile before extending it to the bar tender too, he's mixing something right in front of this guy, so maybe he just ordered something – he didn't just come over to flirt with me while I'm feeling sorry for myself.

"Don't you hate these things?" His smile is nice.

I raise my glass. "Oh, believe it."

He extends his hand and I take it with half of the smile I gave before. "I'm Dana."

"Dana?" Weird.

He nods. "My parents are awful people. Not really – but as far as naming me goes."

"I guess so." I laugh a little, and it's only half fake, to my surprise. "I'm Kristin. Not half as interesting, right?"

"But far more fitting."

He lets go of my hand and grabs his drink.

I just shrug. "Well, Broken Arrow isn't known for breaking tradition."

"Broken Arrow…"

"Oklahoma." I finish.

"Right." A smile that's far too smug appears on his face. "Where the wind comes sweeping down the plains."

"Is that the only line you know from that musical?"

"Yes ma'am, but I still thought it might impress you a little." That smile's genuine.

At almost the same moment I notice I'm smiling back. I'm flirting. Not completely out of the ordinary, but usually I have to do so intentionally.

"Did it work?"

Idina pops into my brain again, holding a newborn and smiling at me. Her hair's pulled up into a top knot, Walker's passed out next to her on the couch but she has a spot waiting for me on the other side of her.

I offer a tight-lipped smile and pick my drink back up. "Almost." I nod at him politely. "It was nice meeting you, Dana."

He looks a little deflated, but smiles anyway. "It was my pleasure."

Not a moment after he turns to go, he stops himself and swivels back toward me. "Could I ask to see you again? If that's not too forward."

"Maybe we'll run into each other." His slight nerves almost get to me. "Who knows? The business isn't all that big. Everyone knows everyone."

I give him one final polite smile before taking my drink and walking over to the dancing and complementing the woman's shoes. She grins and acts overly polite and gives me a matching complement on my outfit and that's the end of the exchange.

I'm far more bored than I thought I'd be, so I'm everywhere – talking to everyone about anything.

Half of the people here don't even know who I am, and less than that are interested in hiring me for anything. I don't like big parties like this. I would much prefer just going through my manager or my agent or whoever wants to find me something, but no – apparently I have to keep up appearances so people don't forget I exist. That or I could go back to broadway… or something off broadway just to keep me going. I'd love to have that kind of schedule again, but the question is what would I play? There aren't a ton of parts for women my age that are any type of interesting. And time is running out a little faster than I'll ever talk about for me to play someone younger than I am.

And I'm depressed again. What with thinking about how old I am and my lack of attention from any party, I'm back at the bar, ordering drink number god knows what, and flirting with the kid passing me my alcohol.

He's young, but I'm a little bit famous, so I could take him home… back to the hotel. Whatever.

Then the other guy walks by.

I feel the huge smile on my face more than I'm controlling it in any way. "Well, it's you again!" I giggle and pat the stool next to mine.

He smiles back but suspiciously. "Are you drunk?"

"No! No, of course not. I'm a lady…" I take a second to eye the women at his side. One looks like a colleague, the other two look like groupies. What did he say he did again? "Ladies just get a little wobbly."

"Oh, of course… Excuse me for my misnomer."

Well, look at the vocabulary on him. Charming.

He squints at me one more time before shooing away the women around him, who all but pout their asses off before sulking away. Then he sits down next to me and smiles warmly. It's how my neighbors used to smile at each other and my parents… and me or my brother whenever they talked to us. Polite… not invasive.

"I think you should have water anyway." Still with the smile.

"Oh, you do?" I raise my eyebrows and lean forward a little.

I know how to flirt. I do it really well, just not usually this obviously. But I'm half drunk and sad, and miss the person I really want to flirt with, so this random stranger will do just fine for now.

He leans forward too. "I do." And he's back, sitting at the angle he was before and waving down the bar tender for water. And in another sly motion he pushes away my drink while making heavy eye contact.

"I see that."

He nods. "Good. You don't need anymore – And I'm bigger than you so you can't get it back."

"Well, can I have coffee instead, at the _very_ least?"

He shrugs. "You can hydrate yourself first… then I'll get you a coffee."

"You'll get me one?" I place my hand over my heart like I'm just touched he would do such a thing.

"Sure."

I push his shoulder. "You're so sweet."

"I try."

"It's working, darlin'." I wink at him.

His jaw goes to the side a bit like he's thinking while he laughs at me – or with me. I don't know which yet.

A bottled water appears in front of me and I sip at it, still looking at D… fuck, what was his name.

"Have you eaten anything?"

"I'm sorry… I forgot your name."

"Dana."

I hit myself on the forehead. "Right! We talked about that…"

"Have you had any food?" He asks the question a little louder this time.

I shake my head. "No, food and I have an on-and-off relationship."

He rests his hand on his chin – just listening. Not judging me like I'm sure most would. "That's not a good thing."

"Are you gay?"

This is the point I realize just how drunk I am. When my filter turns off completely.

I earn a bigger laugh than I thought I would get. He just shakes his head anyway. "If I were gay I'd know more than one line from Oklahoma."

I point at him. "Right… and you'd know who I was."

"I know who you are." His eyebrows furrow like I couldn't tell.

"You do?"

He nods. "Despite your size, you happen to be very hard to overlook."

"Are you flirting with me?" I smile big, blinking slowly.

His head tilts from side to side. "Maybe a little…"

I scoot closer to him on the stool and let my eyes fall half-shut as I play with his tie. "Only a little?"

Before I look back up, that ugly thought pops into my head – What's Idina doing? How is she? What would she do if she saw me right now?

Flashes in my head show me images of her coming in and just taking me away and we'll go somewhere and she'll just kiss me, and keep kissing me instead of taking our clothes of, she'll just put her lips on mine and then she'll tell me the next morning she's not going back… and we would get an apartment again and sign Walker up for school together.

Then I look back up. I push all the thoughts to the back of my mind and I smile at him, hoping the longing I feel in the pit of my stomach doesn't show in my face. He seems nice. He could be a fun time. He could get my mind off of the millions of thoughts about her for a little while.

But he just stills my hand and smiles compassionately back at me. "You seem a little too… wobbly, for me to pursue anything tonight." Then he shrugs and hands me my water. "I'm not that kind of guy anyway."

I take a sip and look away. "Oh."

For some reason, my brain tells my eyes that now is the perfect time for water works. I keep taking deep breaths and blinking quickly, and it's only keeping them at bay a little bit.

"If I get you a muffin or something, will you eat it?"

I nod back, but keep my head turned away so maybe he won't notice.

But he keeps his eyes on me for another good moment before ordering something or other. I can't really hear him and I'm focusing too much on trying to look normal, although I feel like I hate myself and the world. I just want to forget. Rejection never really has been my color.

Then his hand is on my shoulder… or just beneath it, just resting it on my arm lightly like he's trying to comfort me. "I'm not going to ask what's wrong because it's not my business, but do you have someone to talk to?"

I nod again, wiping at my eyes.

He hands me a napkin, not before he checks to see if it's clean. "Good."

"Why are you so nice?"

He shrugs. "I'm not sure… human compassion? I don't like seeing people in pain?"

"Is it that obvious?" I laugh through my tears.

The bar tender drops off a cookie, and smiles at me before looking at Dana and raising his eyebrows.

"Not that you're crying?" He smiles at me gently, then checks all around us. Then he stands and offers me his hand. "Maybe it's a better idea to get going – I don't think you want anything in a magazine about this tomorrow."

I scoff and shake my head. "Not me – I'm not famous enough for that sort of thing."

He grabs the cookie, then takes my hand and starts to lead me out. "Better safe than sorry…"

All the while he's leading me away, it's never forceful. He's just a gentleman about it all, holding the door open for me, making sure I have all of my things, my coat.

And I think how Idina never brings a coat. If she does it wasn't her decision – someone else brought it for her because she's an idiot and thinks it'll be fine and it won't be that cold, or she's just going to be inside for the most part anyway.

Shit like that pops into my head now and then. Or a lot.

Even when he hails a cab for me, and gets in, and then asks me where I'm staying so he can relay it to the driver, she's in the back of my mind.

I'm not as drunk as I was, or maybe as I made myself believe I was so I could flirt my ass off and distract myself from how I feel all the time. I'm not as drunk as I'd like to be to sleep with this guy, but he seems nice enough. So I hug his arm, and pretend it's less muscular so it might be hers.

And before I know it, I'm in an elevator.

"What floor are you?"

Maybe I am that drunk?

I smile. "Are you coming up?"

"Can you make it there by yourself?"

"Why would I need to?" I stumble into him a little on purpose, giggling and hoping he'll fall for it.

He catches me and gets in the elevator with me. He points to the buttons and I press my floor, humming along with the music and glancing back to him every so often.

But when we step out and I find my card to unlock the door, he extends his hand like I'm supposed to shake it.

"It was nice meeting you, Kristin."

I pout my lip. "Are you leaving?"

He nods. "I think that's what's best."

"You don't want to come in?"

For the first time all night he levels a very serious stare. "It's not about what I want – it's about respecting you. I don't want to take advantage of the state you're in."

"That's weird. That never happens to me." I deadpan. I'm trying to be funny, but the reality of it doesn't carry the humor it should.

He digs in his pocket for a moment. "Here-" he hands me his card. "If you remember me tomorrow, you can call me. I'd love to take you out sometime… maybe for food, instead of alcohol." He smiles like it was a joke.

And still it leaves me sort of baffled.

I didn't know gentlemen still existed. I thought it was a dead language or a lost art or something like that. But there he was smiling at me with compassion and understanding, and making sure I got to my room alright, without trying to get in my pants.

I just nod a little, half because I'm in shock and the other half because I don't know if this is really what he's like. But why would it be an act? Who would go so far to try and convince someone of their character, NOT to take advantage of their work and reap the benefits if it weren't real?

He leans in, kisses my forehead and backs away. "Have a safe night." He waves after he presses the down button on the elevator, and for some reason I can't stop staring.

I have to wonder if he's real. If I imagined the whole thing. If I'm going crazy, I don't think anyone would be surprised, but really?

As soon as I get inside, I take my shoes off and then my coat and get on my phone. I don't notice the card still in my hand until it's getting in the way of my drunk texting.

_I miss yourface. love you so much, talk to me sooon._

I go to sleep, almost sure it was Dee I texted, I hope she sees it in the morning and smiles.

However when I wake up, the card is stuck under my cheek, and when I peel it off of my skin I smile to myself.

My head hurts, but I think I'll call him. He was nice. If nothing else it'll be another connection in the business and a free meal.

And maybe a nice distraction.

* * *

_I miss yourface. love you so much, talk to me sooon. _

For the first time, one of her texts makes me cry instead of rolling my eyes or laughing. Especially her drunk texts. Instead of picturing her giggling to herself while sending them I keep imagining her sobbing and crying herself to sleep and I can't stand it.

Most of the time they bother me, and I wonder where she is and who she's with… if she took anyone home with her. It makes my stomach turn but I don't expect her to devote herself to me, not after everything.

It just hurts more now, knowing that I can't go and talk to her, or see her. I mean, I could – but I won't. Denny was serious, and I agreed with him out of more than just guilt. Guilt is what made me agree initially, but it didn't take much thought for it to occur to me that if I wanted her, then I would have to set everything up and wait for her, not the other way around like it's been for so long. It's not her job to wait around for me, it's my job to show her she's worth it, and I've done a shit job of that.

Yesterday was day one. And today it has to continue.

I stand in the bathroom before anyone is up again, strip down to my underwear and start cataloging. My ribs on the left side are still a little purple and there's clear bruises where his fingers dug into my arm a few days ago.

They get sent to my email from my phone with the date on them. Later I'll go and make sure they're in their own file and I'll print them out when I need to.

Baby steps.

I don't exactly know how they'll come into play, but I know they'll help.

Part of me feels dirty, like I'm doing something devious to hurt my husband. It makes me feel like I'm plotting against him and trying to frame him for something. Then the logical part of my brain, the very small part that's barely alive, has to remind the rest of me that I need to pull myself out of the Stockholm's I've developed and be the kind of woman I was raised to be; strong and independent, and not blaming myself for the marks on my body. I'm not perfect, but I don't deserve these, and I don't deserve to be treated like this.

But even in whispering it to myself as I put my pajamas back on I sound like I'm trying to convince myself instead of my intention of a pep-talk.

It takes all I have to erase her message and turn my phone off.

I go and make breakfast and put on a brave face for my son, and even more so for myself when his father wakes up.

Baby steps.


	5. Chapter 5

"I'm sorry."

"Oh, whatever – you're horrible and I will never forgive you."

"I was sick!"

"Boo, you whore."

I hear a sigh on the other end of the line. "I'm supposed to be the one with the mean-girl quotes."

"You don't have dibs – I can use them too."

There's a pause, like he's thinking, and I don't like it.

"Is this still Kristin?"

I roll my eyes. "No, it's Lindsay, can't you tell?"

"Lindsay didn't say that line."

"I don't care, I'm trying to be funny. Just laugh at me so I can feel better about myself."

"You seem different."

"I am different. I'm older."

"Everyone is always older, but you... You seem different. You _sound_ different."

"I slept really well last night."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes." Why would I lie about sleep? Other than making an excuse…. Sometimes I hate he knows me so well. "No. I don't know. I feel… lighter."

"How come?"

"I'm not sure."

"Are you lying?"

"No."

"Did something happen at the party."

"No… well…" Damn it. "No."

"Oh, you fibber – you tell me right now!"

"Nothing happened!"

"What did you do? What did you get into? Did you sleep with someone."

I wish. "No."

"Did you get arrested?"

"Don't you think you would have heard if I was arrested? I'm too old to be arrested, Denny."

"What happened!"

"Oh my goodness! I got a little drunk, I danced, I flirted, this guy gave me his number, I went back to the hotel – done. End of story. Nothing hap-"

"Who's number? What guy? Is he cute?"

"Why would you care? You're in a loving, committed relationship, which I hate you for."

"Oh, hush – I meant for _you_."

"Oh, some… actually I don't know what he does. He didn't tell me or I don't remember… or both."

"Do you still have it?"

"The Number?... yeah? I think so."

"You should call him."

"Eh."

"Why not?"

"Because maybe I don't want to – he didn't sleep with me so it's not worth it."

"Well maybe you two could actually _date_ – why would he give you his number, and NOT try to get in your pants."

"Do you know we speak and think almost exactly the same way."

"You're so lucky. Now, call him."

"But we're having such a riveting conversation."

"I love you – call him. Then call me back."

And the line goes dead. If he were here I'd slap him.

No… I wouldn't. But I'd want to just as bad. Yet I still listen to him. I don't even wait a whole minute staring at my phone before I start digging through my purse for the little piece of card stock.

* * *

New York has always felt like home.

Aside from the fact I grew up there… not in the actual city, but around. Long Island barely counts but I mean the actual New York. Manhattan, and Broadway, and right in the thick of it – it reminds me of everything good that has happened to me and all of the good I've done, granted it's hard to pull up examples when you're as self-deprecating as I can be most of the time.

But this time is different. It feels like I'm carrying all of my baggage and stupidity back here with me, and it feels dirty and wrong.

Even in seeing Anthony, which I thought would make everything better because he was the only level-headed one of us last time, all I could think was even he couldn't make this right. I've fucked my whole life over and now I'm here, avoiding everything for the millionth time and pretending I'm taking steps in the right direction when in all actuality, I'm probably only stalling until I can fall back in the routine and ignore all of the things that I've come to realize.

The worst part in all of it is that with moving and showing Walker all of the places in the city we loved so much, Taye hasn't had much time alone around me, which means I'm running out of things to photograph. I don't want to give him reasons to do anything, and I don't want to keep this horrible string of circumstances going any longer than it needs to, but I find myself not knowing what to do. If he's not being violent, how will I leave? And if things are getting better would I need to leave?

Except I think of Kris.

And I want to hold her and have her next to me – I want to make sure she knows she's wanted and that I want her.

It's dizzying. The way everything is, and the fact that it's become so out of control. Not that it's ever been simple. I don't know why but my head keeps turning back to that day I told her I was pregnant, and how she was so ready to give up everything – she was just waiting for me with open arms and prepared to raise a baby that wasn't ours with me because she loved me. And I've never done anything so selfless for her.

I don't know if that's where she broke, or if it was earlier or later. Maybe when I left after he hit me the first time. When everything was so good.

I think that might have been why I left. Everything was too good and I couldn't handle it. I knew it would crash and burn sooner or later so I got out before I was the one without an option. And now that I say it I want to be punched about as hard as anyone could. Put me in a coma so I don 't have all of these fucking decisions and things running through my mind all the time that make me sick. I left her, but worse than that I took Walker away from her. I know that's what hurt her more than losing me.

I'd been leaving her over and over again for years. That time she lost a family. That was the one thing she's always wanted one of her own, so much more than me.

Maybe that's why I left? Maybe I felt without realizing that I was just part of what she'd been waiting for all of her life – that it wasn't just us anymore, she wanted the whole package. But at least I was part of it. She still loved me, and trusted me and here we are. She's underweight and miserable, and I'm plotting which way would be best to let her go again.

My life is a fucking mess.

* * *

He's a gentleman at heart.

I don't know where along the line I actually started enjoying myself, but I have. Granted in the past two months, there's only been a handful of dates, but he's nice to me. He likes to hear what I think about things, and he has opinions and things to say back to me. We have conversations, and he makes me think.

Needless to say Denny was overjoyed when he pried the information from me. And yes, I fought it, but I like him.

There. I said it and no one can judge me for it.

I didn't mean to, but I do. I like being around someone who flirts with me mercilessly and takes all of the eye-batting I have to give, and can still manage to share thoughts, opinions, views on things. And we see a ton of things very differently, but there aren't ever arguments. We just talk. Sometimes it turns into loud conversation, heated dialogue at moments, but it always ends in laughter or learning something. It's refreshing.

He's a producer, too – he produces movies and things which I find the decision making process to tedious to do too often, so I respect him for that. And he keeps saying he could never be an actor so he respects me in that sense.

But he hasn't kissed me yet.

I've kissed him a couple times, but he keeps it very chaste and smiles before offering me his arm or taking my hand. So I'm either vastly unattractive, or he wants to wait until marriage, which I'm not prepared for. Marriage or waiting. Either, at least in regards to him, I don't really feel like entertaining the idea. He's a man, and no matter how much of a gentleman he wants to be, he's not Idina and he's not going to last much longer if he doesn't switch things up.

Even then he won't last a whole lot longer. I only play the waiting game for one sociopath and she's my everything.

Even so, I don't know if sleeping with him is part of the plan anymore. Maybe he just wants to be friends. Of course I'm too afraid to ask because I don't really want that. I want to feel wanted by this dashing son of a bitch, if only for a few weeks before I get bored and make up some lame excuse about being too busy for a relationship and get on with my life. Sort of. What life is there to get on with again?

And that thought sounds less and less appetizing the more I think about it. Maybe I'll take it slow – see what he has up his sleeve, and if it's friendship, I guess I'll take it. At least it's something to keep me busy in idle moments, and he pays for food.

And he has some cute scruff going on.

Normally I hope these schmucks are boring so I don't feel bad about getting a little attention and shrugging them away. This one is interesting. He can take my mind off of her for more than a second or two. Sometimes hours if we keep talking.

But my mind goes right back to her once I'm home. Wanting her to pet my hair and give me her signature kisses – the tiny pecks that slowly turn into lingering caresses and back again. I still miss her, which is the telling thing. He's not on my mind more than she is or anywhere close to an equal playing field.

Maybe that would be sad in a healthy person's mind.

* * *

Give me a musical with curse words and confusion and I'm in love.

I'm home, and finally something feels right. Even if Walker's not with me all the time, and even if I'm ignoring my problems, I feel like I'm a part of something. And something good. Something I like that I don't have to tip toe around and make sure everything is perfect. We have time to make it perfect, and oh thank god I don't have to do choreography. I mean blocking… to music. That doesn't count as choreography. I'm glad someone understands that I do not need to dance, at any point, ever. I have no rhythm and I'm fine with that so long as people don't make me dance. Choreography or not, I'm not very good. Months and months of practice only dull the impending cringing of the audience.

But I love this one. I'm excited that my first time back is something that I'm really interested in.

And it's like family – falling right back into something that I'm comfortable with and where people understand the nonsense that comes out of my mouth.

"Alright everyone, good work – let's take a fifteen, and grab a water and we'll come back."

Without questioning I obey and grab a bottle before taking myself and drop to the ground next to my bag. I glance over the next few scenes and my notes from the last few nights of obsessing over what I want to do with my face and my voice on certain lines – mine or while someone else is saying a line.

The phone rings, and I don't even look at the screen before answering.

"Helloooo?" I sing song, still scanning over words.

"Hi.."

I almost notice the laugh and the smile in her voice before I'm jolted by the fact it's her. I gulp and look around me on instinct – I shouldn't care who hears me talking to her. I shouldn't do a lot of things but we've established my head is pretty fucked and there's not really any going back on it now.

"Hey – I didn't- I…" I stumble. I smile before wanting to cry and running through the emotions. "I didn't look at the caller ID. I –uhm. How are you?"

She laughs and I take a breath.

"I'm alright. How are you?"

"Tired. And busy – but it's the good kind of busy/tired that kinda… makes everything seem less tiring than it is."

"Yeah?"

I nod, though I'm aware she can't see it. "Yeah. Rehearsals. I told you about the musical. The thing with Anthony – we started rehearsals and it's really good."

"Good, I'm happy for you. One big thing to another." She sounds amused, like I'm entertaining her with my half nervous ramblings.

She doesn't know why I'm nervous. I think that's a good thing because if she knew she would either be horribly sad, or homicidally angry with me. Or a mix of the two.

I don't know what she'd be. I can't tell her and find out. I almost hoped I could just avoid talking to her and not tell her I was going to leave her alone for a while. Just leaving things to cool off and carrying through with everything while she's occupied with other things would be a hell of a lot easier for me. But, no. I have to answer the stupid phone without looking like an idiot.

I shrug anyway. "We don't know if the Disney thing is going to be big yet or not."

"Oh please. It'll be huge."

"If we're lucky – it could go down in smoke."

"I don't think so, I think it'll be wonderful."

She sounds so happy.

"I missed your voice." The joy falters just a little, but it's more contemplative I guess. It's not gone.

I can't help but smile. "I miss _you_."

"How is everything? At home, I mean."

I slump against the wall and cross my legs. "It's better. For the moment at least."

There's that awkward silence that flashes in bursts through our conversation when things like this come up. I don't know why we keep doing it to ourselves.

"What about on your end?"

"Hmmm… busy. Like always, though. But I'm alright. I'm entertained, I suppose."

"You like being busy though. It makes you happy."

I can almost feel her shrug across the phone line. "I guess…"

"Doesn't it?"

"Business makes me forget how lonely I am, so I guess I like it for that reason – sure."

Well, fuck.

An image of her passed out and clutching her bottle of sleeping pills burns itself into my brain and I can feel the water and granola churning uneasily in my stomach.

"I'm sorry.. I didn't mean for it to sound like that." There's almost some humor in her tone which I can't comprehend at the moment.

"You don't have to be sorry." I sigh.

"I pick crappy times to forget my filter. Or maybe I'm just really bad at phrasing?"

I shake my head. "I'm just shitty at giving you things like that to say."

"Really, I'm good. I feel good."

It sounds real. Like she's doing better. Maybe without having me there to shake up her otherwise well-balanced world, she's better off? Maybe I am the problem.

"Are you going to that ten-year thing?"

I gulp down the knot in my throat. "What ten-year thing?"

"The thing in the magazine for Wicked's ten-year anniversary. I got an email for it this morning."

"Oh.. I haven't checked mine yet."

"You probably have one too, then."

I smile, blinking fast. "Ten years… that means we're getting old, hu?"

"Older? Sure… don't you call me old, though."

I laugh despite myself. I want to hold her and see her smile like how I imagine she is when she laughs at me over the phone like this. I don't know if it's really there on the other line but I want to believe it, but not for the reasons that are eating at my gut.

But I grin with tears in my eyes, turning my face to the wall and away from the other people scattered and chatting throughout the room. "You sound good."

She sighs a small, happy sigh. "I feel good."

I can't do anymore. I get up and start pacing before I speak again. "I.. have to go and… you know. With the rehearsing and stuff."

"Honey, are you alright?" Still in concern for me she seems better than she's been in so long.

All I can think is that the time away from me is doing her so much good… and maybe I should let her have what's best for her. Which only makes me want to cry more.

Fuck. Fucking _fuuuuck_. I hate emotions.

"Yeah. I'm fine, I'm just a little hoarse. It just came out of nowhere."

"Okay… Well.. I love you."

"Love you too."

"Call me once and a while – I like talking to you, ya know. Even if we can't see each other."

I feel my lip start to shake. "I'll do that."

No, I won't.

"Okay. Have fun rehearsing, lady."

"I will… thank you, baby."

"You're welcome. Talk to you soon?"

"Yeah." No. No matter how much I want to.

"Byyyeeee.."

"Bye."

I don't know if she heard my whisper of a goodbye but I hang up and pretend to scroll through random things as tears come spilling out. I feel like an idiot. I'm sitting in the corner of this fucking rehearsal room having a breakdown and I'm an idiot.

I feel Anthony's hand rubbing my back before I see him. He's just there with his flat line of a smile that tells me I don't need to explain and I laugh at myself through my tears and lean my head on his chest. He doesn't say anything either. We just sit like that until the next few minutes allow me to gain my composure and wipe my face.

"Do I look as dumb as I feel?"

"No… I'm sure no one could ever feel that dumb."

I hit him and smile, which almost makes me want to cry again because my whole processing unit of my brain is absolutely FUCKING wrecked. Because I'm a wreck.

"You look fine."

"Thanks."

I pat my face with my sleeves a little more before giving him an awkward smile. "Why am I such a mess?"

"Because you're human and life makes humans miserable."

"Deep."

"That's what she said."

I laugh.

He gives me his hand and I take it without question.

He won't ever ask me what that was all about, and he wouldn't ever tell anyone it happened. At most, he'll make up an some ridiculous excuse, and if anyone disputes it, he'll shrug and have it stop there.

Sometimes I wish I could be that way. But as soon as I see something, think something, feel something… it just sits so I can think over and obsess over it and make myself crazy. I want to shrug away life and be okay. I want to breathe and take a step forward without wondering if I've missed something on the previous step.

But I know what'll happen.

I'll go home after rehearsal and keep thinking about how she sounded and keep beating myself up for making her so unhappy, and I'll stare at my phone and her texts and want to talk to her, but I won't. I'll just think, and brood, and let myself go crazy.

I'm already crazy. Who am I trying to play.

Fuck baby steps. Let's dive in and get this shit over with.


End file.
